


we often see against some storm a silence in the heavens

by lorarawr



Category: The Royals (TV 2015)
Genre: Black as His Purpose Did the Night Resemble, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Episode Tag, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Jasper is not emotionally ready to deal with his father, Jasper was shot three days ago and then had to walk across london, No proofreading we die like mne, nor am I, so we are not going to talk about it, that boy needs a nap and a snuggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 17:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr/pseuds/lorarawr
Summary: The human body can do marvelous things when pressed to do so. Can crisscross an entire city in the deep black of a raging night when the previous day his accomplishment had been making it down to the floor beneath his own in the hospital.Tag/scene filler to Episode 4x04, in which Jasper's arrival at the palace goes a little more realistically. Also, i'm ignoring the last scene, because I'm not ready for Frost, Sr. at the palace.





	we often see against some storm a silence in the heavens

His hands begin shaking at the entrance to the palace grounds. The sun is sweeping in to greet him, and the horizon lightens the rest of way to the entrance in a soft dewy light which juxtaposes the harshness of the preceding night, a rambling blackness, a stiff and unforgiving master. He has battled mobs and demons and his own mortality these last 12 hours; sunken deeper into murky pasts and unwanted rip currents. But he is close to being home, close to erasing and forgetting the journey here, and the conversations that still echo in his head, a haunting reverberation with every step.

He is almost there. He can do this.

He breaks into a sweat at the top of the stairs, his breath heavy in his chest, a deep ache that pounds in time with his chaotically beating heart. There is noise coming from the opened door, more noise than the palace should have, especially after recent events. He tries to quicken his pace, but all that happens is his dragging feet scrape against the tile in a slightly less weighted fashion. He passes through the ajar palace doors and enters inside.  The noise transforms from vague loudness into voices and a cacophony of conversations that make it impossible to trace any one into anything meaningful.

There are people here. Here, in the palace. In a palace Jasper had assumed would be in lock-down. Tens of people, perhaps even hundreds, ambling about the first two rooms off of the great hall. Kids darting out of open doors, and older groups in sets of two and three walk about, holding flutes and glasses in their hands. Jasper blinks sweat out of his eyes and then blinks again to confirm his vision.

This must be Eleanor’s doing. A party will solve any problem. A death, a shooting, a blackout.

People begin to turn to look at him, this straggling survivor, coming in out of the newly breaking dawn, his hunched form and trembling hands. They begin to whisper and then they begin to clap. Soft and then loud, until it fills the great hall with a singular noise. Clapping. They are clapping for him; _him;_ the nobody from the desert who has never been anything or anyone. The claps power him through hall and onto the threshold of the first room  and then she is there. Whole. Strong. Beautiful.

Jasper Frost who has never believed in love stories; who has never seen the point in fairy tales; she is his, he is hers. He is home. A home he knows, softly and with rounded edges, an absurd concept for the streetwise conman from Las Vegas. And yet, it rings true as he steps closer to her, taking her in, her smile and her bright eyes and her majesty.

His pace quickens, his spine straightens, a shot of adrenaline, perhaps his last. He needs to touch her, needs to feel her, needs for her to wipe away the dark that has begun to seep onto him. She meets him, in the center of the room, and there are no necessary words, no platitudes or explanations. Just him, and her, and the way her body has always fit against his, the way her lips have always felt against his.

He would traverse the whole world for her, for these moments outside of time when it is just her and him. He would walk the whole world for her, if only he could catch his breath.

“Jasper?” Eleanor steps back from his embrace to look at him, her eyes darting from his sweat drenched and pale face to his chest where she knows bandages reside beneath a soiled black shirt.

“I’m fine” he responds, pure willpower and American made stubbornness keeping him from being anything but.

The human body can do marvelous things when pressed to do so. Can crisscross an entire city in the deep black of a raging night when the previous day his accomplishment had been making it down to the floor beneath his own in the hospital. Had left him crawl through tunnels and around neighborhoods without crutches or support (though one had been bizarrely given). Yes, the human body can accomplish magnificent feats, but the human body has limits even before taking into account the gunshot wound to his upper quadrant that had almost taken his life just a few days previous.

He is cold and tired (the word seems like a loose thing to say, to capture the bone weary way he feels right now, mentally exhausted from having to erect walls that he had long thought he would never have to use again). The last remains of adrenaline coursing through his body are leaving a bitter, tangy aftertaste in his mouth. The slight tremble in his hands is coursing up his body to make the whole world seem slightly of kilter and out of focus.

He won't collapse, he can't collapse (he may not have much of a say in the matter).

“Jasper?” Eleanor repeats, the worry edging its way into every consonant of his name.

“Jasper!” another voice joins in, higher pitched and full of excitement. Sarah Alice. “Jasper you came home, and Princess Eleanor came home and there were no zombies!” she exclaims, rapidily approaching, full of energy and adoration and two too many slices of cake.

He tries to take a step forward, to greet, but his foot and his brain don’t get the message at the same time and he begins to fall.

Hands grab at him, slowing his descent, as multiple voices shout in concern.

He made it. He is home.

*

He comes to laying down on a wide couch, a soft pillow beneath his head, and two more beneath his feet. Slowly turning his head, he sees that he is still in the same room though now it is void of people, besides Eleanor and James Hill speaking softly a few feet from where he lays.

James Hill, who was there when he woke up for the first time after the shooting, who had placed a warm hand on his cheek and breathed out a “thank God” and then immediately followed it with a warning that if he ever did something like this ever again he would be demoted to protecting the royal laundry.

Hill, who had rolled his eyes and wrote love letters for two idiots. Hill, who still believes these two idiots will make it work. Hill, who has turned to glare at him even while he cracks the lid on a bottle of water and hands it over to him.

Jasper's hands still shake as he reaches to accept it, and Hill wordlessly keeps a hold on the bottle as well, gently lifting it with Jasper so he can take a drink. Even laying down, Jasper still feels a little out of sorts, and the nabbing pain within his chest from the gun shot and subsequent surgeries has begun to ramp up.

“Easy,” Hill murmurs, taking the bottle away and recapping it, “that was quite a dramatic way to come in”

“We will award extra points for style, Mr. Hill” Eleanor smiles as she comes up beside him, and then moves to sit down on the edge of the couch, her fingers extending to wrap around Jasper’s hand and bring it up for a kiss.

“Hey you." she greets, and then continues, "the powers back on, and we’ve called for a doctor to come and look you over, get some pain meds, some antibiotics, you know all the good things someone needs to recuperate from being shot and then wandering across the city in the middle of the night like an idiot.”

Jasper begins to protest, starts to raise himself up of the couch in an attempt to even the playing field, even thought with Eleanor it has never been a fair fight.

“Shh, Jasper” she says before he can get a word in, one hand all she needs to push him back down onto his back, him providing little able resistance. “You’re an idiot, but you’re here, you’re safe, and you’re home.”

“And hopefully all your other guests, princess, will soon be making their way to their respective homes as well?” Hill asks.

“Yeah,” Jasper says, “what was with all of those people?”

Eleanor laughs, a sound that lightens for an instant the heaviness and weariness within him, and she comes up to move a hair from his face. “Well, you see,” she begins, retelling her version of the shadowed yester night, in only the way she could: with other powerful, take no excuses women, party glow sticks, and a heart so large he wonders how the world ever didn’t see it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the same soliloquy from Hamlet as the title of the episode.


End file.
